I don’t know how she does it. An aunt of mine has had to watch her oldest daughter suffer and suffer over and over again. My cousin Michelle has cystic fibrosis and lissencephaly, a rare brain formation disorder. She’s in the hospital now after major surgery, and my aunt is aching to never leave her side. However, she has another child who needs her, too.
Recently, she sent me the poem below. She wrote, “This is how I feel right now.” Reading her words tugged at my maternal fibers. Although I have never, ever been in a situation even remotely close to hers, there have been a handful of times when I’ve felt helpless watching my child have to endure suffering (like when my 2-year-old endured a head injury and had tears and blood streaming down her face or when my oldest was a baby and had to get blood drawn from her tiny, flailing arm). It’s during these times that I, too, have hurt in my heart. It’s these times when I can unite my tears with Mary’s who had to stand by and watch her son’s brutal death.
My aunt gave me permission to share the words that whispered in her hurting heart and asked for your prayers – not only for her strength and Michelle’s healing but also for her younger daughter, Simone, whose life is all topsy-turvy right now, too.
While we’re at it, let’s lift every hurting mom we know up in prayer. I personally have several who come to mind. Thank you.
I hurt in my heart like nobody could know.
The tears cut my soul but I can’t make them flow.
Would I could they would start, but they may never stop.
Pace the floor, plead to God, till I nearly do drop.
How in the hell did I get to this place?
I am old, past is past, dreamed I’d raced my last race.
Oh, God, I bemoan and I wail and I scream
But I hang on with threads to the dream we all dream.
Of that Guy who is there, His hand reached out to all
How do I know that He’ll catch when I fall?
He is the reason I am who I am,
Formed by colleagues and friends and my kids and my fam.
I miss my dear child, my sweet angel Michelle.
I’ll sleep not tonight, for she’s not doing well.
To be miles away is the cross that I bear,
Away from her scent from her skin from her hair.
Mary, dear Mother of Mothers, tonight,
While I am alone, speak to me, hold me tight.
I am guided by You and my own mom so dear,
Guard me and Michelle and Simone from all fear
So now I will close—will I cry or count sheep?
I don’t know but whatever, my heart You will keep.